


Lonely Men

by hugh_jassmann



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:13:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26679547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hugh_jassmann/pseuds/hugh_jassmann
Summary: A birthday present for a very good friend of mine!
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	Lonely Men

Heath was a lonely man.

He couldn’t remember the last time he didn’t feel so lonely, it was so long ago. He spent most of his days huddled in a corner booth at the local watering hole, or slowly nursing a glass of water at the diner until closing. Oftentimes he dreaded going home to that big empty building. 

The inn was eerily quiet at all hours of the day with nobody occupying its many vacant rooms. Stiff’s Ridge didn’t see many travelers anymore, and it was a miracle that the place hadn’t been torn down yet. But as big of a task as caring for the inn had gotten, Heath still took the time to clean and dust every inch of every room, and make any repairs the crumbly old lodging needed. It was still his home, after all, the place where the only thing that gathered dust were his bones in the attic. 

Vernon was a lonely man. 

Perhaps moving to such a small town wasn’t such a good idea, there being not many children for his son to play with. But he felt the judging eyes of his neighbors on him in his old town, felt their pity and disgust crawl over him like ants. It was all he could do to get out of there; the place where his father and wife died. Stiff’s Ridge was a quiet town, a place where nobody would question why they rarely ever saw him leave his house once he moved in. With only his son to keep him company, not by design but by choice. Even in a town full of new faces, he felt that same judgment.

Both men knew loss like the backs of their eyelids. Both would say that losing like they had changes you; makes you walk with a heavy step and sluggish stride, no matter how long your legs are. Two men as tall as them, looked like they’d been crushed with the weight of the world several times over. 

Though where Vernon was quiet and reserved, seemingly cold, Heath was a man of the people. He always had been, a people person. A people’s ghost. 

It had been a long time since either of them felt the touch of another. Far too long to know. 

So neither man felt the need to push away when they found themselves tangled in each other’s limbs, a forgotten body on a martyr’s, scrabbling to get their clothes off as if they’d entered the sun. 

Even Vernon, so quiet and fearful, let Heath’s expert and aged hands explore his person, his own body experienced but not as outwardly. He welcomed the touches, more gentle than how he imagined they would be, after watching Heath’s callused fingers pluck at his banjo strings on those hot summer nights, and how he would dig in his garden and yank up roots with such force that Vernon swore he would pull the entire ground out from the earth. 

Those same hands danced down his body, pale against pale, tracing the slight curve of his waist and down his hips, dozens of tiny scars of all shapes marking his skin. He tasted like nothing when they kissed, Vernon remarked to himself, while Heath noticed that Vernon had a pleasant fruity flavor to his mouth that he wasn’t expecting. 

Heath kissed lower and lower still, his mouth shockingly cold against Vernon, but a welcome and awakening shock that rocked Vernon to his core, and Heath looked so lovely in the setting sun, his lips wrapped around Vernon, eyes gently closed like he was fast asleep. 

Vernon made a lot of noise for someone so quiet, Heath mused as his thumbs rubbed idle circles on Vernon’s hip bones. He was more skeleton than man. And he tasted even sweeter the second time, Heath turned his head to spit. 

Vernon guided Heath inside him with careful and practiced hands. He sounded even lovelier this way, letting his voice and moans flow with abandon. It was a feeling he was used to, but it had been far too long since it was given to him by someone so kind.   
He sang his praises, losing himself in the moment, being held by a strong body in the warm air of the bedroom of the inn where Heath dwelled most. Heath’s skin was cold like ice yet his cheeks flushed. He held Vernon closer, savoring the warmth of his body before he shook with his release, softly placing kisses along his friend’s face and neck and shoulder. Vernon cried out, head thrown back, and it bounced off the quiet walls of the inn and back to them. 

It wasn’t long before Vernon had to take his leave, he had to pick his son up from the neighbor who was watching him. He left Heath with a signature melancholy smile and a slight wave of his hand, still frigid from where Heath held it.


End file.
